We don't always get the luxury of dreaming when we sleep.
By: Sonia/Noelle Cryptomeria
In my dream tonight, I am the only thing that is real. I take my little blue pills, rise from bed, slip on my robe, and walk down the stairs. My mother is there, at the kitchen table, and gives me a wave. I ignore her and open the front door. A deluge of cats pour into our house as I wade out through them. They all dissipate as I shut it behind me.
I walk down the street, bare feet sizzling against the hot pavement of the road. Three suns shine high in the sky above me. It’s sweltering. I lift a hand and shove at one of the suns, sending it far, far away til it’s no larger or brighter than an average star. It cools down a bit.
I enter into my neighbor’s home. It’s nighttime now, their living room packed with my imagined beings all dancing to electronic music. A disco ball overhead spins faster and faster, whirlpooling the light and the people around me until we are all mixed into one fleshy, glowing beauty. I enjoy this for a while, then pull myself out and go back outside.
As I exit, I see him. I wake with a start.
. . .
In my dream tonight, I am the only thing that is not real. Rather, I am just a reflection of the desires of those real actors around me. My mother thinks 'hm, shouldn’t she be coming down for breakfast right about now?' as I walk down the stairs to meet her. She waves, and I return the wave. 'What’re we eating', I say, though the words aren’t my own. She sets a plate down in front of me, bacon and poorly cooked eggs. I eat silently. My mother sips her coffee.
She thinks 'I wish she would go now, so I can rest a bit more before work,' and I am gone out the door. On our porch, I stand motionless. People mill about on the street, going about their days, as I wait and the suns reach their zenith then rapidly set behind my house. Nearby, a party begins. I stand on my porch unmoving as electronic music faintly echoes in the air. I am, in a word, unwanted. I see a silhouetted figure approach my neighbor’s home.
He thinks 'I wonder if she’s there; she better be.' and in a moment I am. A disco ball spins wildly as people dance around me. I go back outside my neighbor’s house and as I exit, I see him.
I wake with tears in my eyes and a pit in my stomach.
. . .
In my dream tonight, I do not wake up. I watch over my own body as I lay sprawled out in bed, snoring heavily. I’ve kicked off my blanket in my sleep, and my uncovered chest rises and falls with each of my labored breaths. It is not a peaceful rest that I am having.
Downstairs, my mother sips her coffee. Outside, the suns rise and fall. People go about their days. A party begins. A figure waits outside for me, but I am not there. He waits. I sleep. He waits, and I sleep, and he waits, and I sleep, and he waits.
I wake with a powerful urge to vomit, and run to the bathroom.
. . .
In my dream tonight, I am awake, but everyone I know is deep asleep. I take my little blue pills, rise from bed, slip on my robe, and walk down the stairs. A cup of coffee steams away at the kitchen table, but no one is there to drink it. I take it for myself. I put a slice of bread in the toaster, forget about it, and walk outside.
I go on a long walk, drinking in the morning. Three suns shine brightly overhead as I wander through suburbia, but no one else is around. I walk, and walk, and walk; circling the block until it’s nighttime. I go to my neighbor's house, knock on the door, wait, receive no answer. I enter. Electronic music is playing, a disco ball is spinning, but it’s all so barren it brings me to tears.
I exit the house. No one is there. I wake with disorientation, and a need to pee.
. . .
In my dream tonight, I am dreaming. Maybe for the first time.
Sonia and Noelle are a couple of transfem plural dykes that write fiction and poetry, somewhat respectively. They quite like surrealism and experimental art. Sonia wrote this one. You can find them @restmyawfulsoul and their recent chapbook for Poetry Jam "Entering Existence" here.